I let it explode.

“Damnit, Ashley! You’re not my wife yet, so no, I don’t have to tell you everything. You’re not my boss. I can do whatever I want to do, and I don’t have to tell you that I’m doing it!” I shout at her, raising my arms in pure anger. I don’t even stick around to see the shocked look on her face, I just storm out.

It’s ten o’clock at night and I am as drunk as anything. I know it was wrong, but hell, I did it anyway. I shouldn’t drink; that’s a fact. I act stupid when I am drunk. Hell, these days, I act stupid when I am sober. I feel like crying my eyes out, but I don’t. I walk home, stumbling all around. Some chick at the bar offered to take me home. I’m not sure if she meant give me a ride to my home, or take me to her home.

Either way, I declined. I don’t think Ashley would like that. Nah, it would kill her to know that someone else has been…down there. Mother fucker.

 Even though the bar isn’t far from our place, it takes me so long to get home. Why? Because like I said, I’m drunk, and slow. And a couple times, I actually forgot where I was going.

Home.

To see my Ashley, who is pissed at me, probably? I don’t blame her. Well, she isn’t going to be any happier when she sees that I’m hammered. And there’s the fact that I didn’t call, and basically disappeared. Why am I treating her this bad? I am taking my anger out on her. It’s not her fault. It’s mine.

After the longest time, I finally reach our apartment. The door is obviously locked so I have to reach in my pocket and fish for my keys. When I get them out, I push the door open and right away, I see Ashley walking towards me.

“Hey, babyyy,” I get out.

I try my best to stand up straight, but it’s not working out. She doesn’t move. This picture, this time, it doesn’t seem real to me. I’m starting to wonder if I’m dreaming this. She doesn’t move for the longest time. She just stands there, staring at me. After what felt like forever, she finally just shakes her head and sighs as she walks into our bedroom.